Familial Bond 단편 소설 & Homewrecker Marriage 소설

On my way home after a night shift, my wife, Lilian Jones, the associate chief of neurosurgery, suddenly called. "Honey, Garrett Lowe in Room 9 has suffered a ruptured cerebral aneurysm. You're the only surgeon in the hospital who can perform this operation. Come back now!" In my previous life, I did not hesitate. I made a U-turn and sped back to the hospital. However, by the time I burst into the operating room, Garrett was already dead on the table. Right in front of his family and the entire surgical team, Lilian slapped me across the face and insisted that my surgical error had cost Garrett his life. The hospital immediately suspended me from clinical duties, stripped me of my position as an attending neurosurgeon, and suspended my medical license for six months. Three days later, Garrett's family ambushed me outside the emergency department and stabbed me to death in broad daylight. Only after I died did I learn the truth. To give surgical resident Ethan Smith a chance to gain hands-on experience, Lilian violated hospital protocol and allowed him to take the lead in the operation. His inexperience cost Garrett his life, and I was nothing more than the scapegoat they sacrificed to cover it up. Less than a week after my funeral, the two of them moved in together openly. A few years later, they even became the hospital's model couple, admired and envied by everyone. "The patient's already under anesthesia, and the OR is fully prepped. Where are you?" Lilian's voice came through the phone again in this life, her barely concealed panic impossible to miss. I fell silent for a moment before answering in a hoarse voice, "Okay. I'll be right there."

The day I turned eighteen, my father picked my birthday dinner to drop his bombshell: he'd fallen for someone else, and he wanted a divorce. Mom was about to flip the table. Then a stream of comments scrolled across my vision. [Don't make a scene! He's just a cheater. We don't even want him.] [Your mom's gorgeous. Play the sweet, doting type, win him over, and she'll walk away with most of his fortune. We're talking billions!] [Take the billions and enjoy the rest of your life. Beats rotting at home as some bitter ex-wife, doesn't it?] Following the comments, I clapped a hand over Mom's mouth and whispered: "Mom, stop! Dad's worth billions, we have to watch what we say!"

My wife brought home three identical boys and insisted they were mine. I rushed a DNA test overnight. It proved that none of the children was biologically related to either of us. She slapped me, called me a heartless cheater, and demanded a divorce that would leave me with nothing. I went to my best friend to vent, but the moment he saw the boys, he kicked me hard enough to break eight ribs. "Deny they're yours one more time, and I'll kill you myself." Sick with disbelief, I bought a ticket and fled to my parents' home that same night. I begged them to hear me out. Instead, they beat me to death with a garden hoe. Even as I died, I couldn't understand why everyone I loved was determined to make me claim three children no one knew. Then I opened my eyes and found myself back on the day my wife first brought them home.

My mother-in-law has gotten kidnapped, and yet my husband, Josiah Broadway, decides to celebrate the success of his childhood sweetheart, Vivian Spencer's performance with her. The kidnapper has requested a ten-million-dollar ransom. If he doesn't receive the money in his bank account in an hour, he'll kill the hostage immediately. But my calls to Josiah's phone never go through. When there's only one minute left on the timer, Josiah calls me back calmly. "Since that hag is already that old, she might as well die. I'm not wasting my money on her." Just like that, my mother-in-law is thrown into the sea by the furious kidnapper. The search-and-rescue team has to resort to using long hooks in order to fish her corpse out of the sea. As soon as the body is delivered to the crematorium, Josiah sends me a voice message excitedly. "Have your mom's corpse sent to the studio! Vivian's performance needs a corpse anyway! Using a real corpse will make the whole performance seem more realistic!" I'm pissed off, to say the least. So, that bastard thinks that my mom is the one who died, huh? After that, I have my mother-in-law's corpse, which is completely disfigured from all the fishing and hooking, sent to the studio without any hesitation.

I use to think that I'm the pillar of this family, but I later realize that in my husband's eyes, I'm merely a machine expected to provide for the family and serve the household. I'm not allowed to ever complain about being tired or exhausted. After flying overseas for business and staying up all night to negotiate deals for Marco Botti, I return home in the early hours of the morning and am still expected to make supper for his mother, Lucia Palmieri. On our wedding anniversary, I get into an accident. The hospital contacts Marco, and he promises that he will be there. But he ends up leaving me to endure the entire emergency rescue procedure alone. When I regain consciousness, I see my seven-year-old daughter, Sofia Botti, holding Marco's phone and showing me the cake from last night. "Mommy, can you always stay out and work overtime every day? I want to play with Claudia every day without you around." She then points at Marco in the photo with a huge smile on her face, showing me how Marco's arm was snaked tightly around Claudia Durante's waist just last night. She was leaning into his embrace, pressing her face against his shoulder. Claudia has been my best friend for more than a decade. I return the phone to Sofia, but the movement tears at my wounds, and it hurts so much that I don't dare to open my mouth in case I cry out in pain. Finally, I no longer need to find an excuse for Marco, nor do I need to find another reason to stay with him. I don't want this home anymore. I just want to leave with the old golden retriever that my Papa, Arturo Vitale, left me before he passed. The moment I'm discharged from the hospital, I immediately file for a divorce. Marco stands at the courthouse exit, tugging at the handle of my car with his eyes reddened and teary. "Erina, how could you just throw away our 12 years of marriage like this?" I don't spare him another look. He should be grateful that all I'm serving him are divorce papers and not an execution order from the Vitales, the biggest Mafia Famiglia in Sivilly.

"Daddy, I want to see Mommy," my son, Simon Lloyd, murmurs after he regains consciousness on the hospital bed. I freeze for a moment and instinctively look toward the hospital room door. No one is there. Yesterday, after Simon came out of the operating room, my wife, Selena Aston, held his hand and said, "Don't worry. I'll be right outside waiting for you. I'm not going anywhere." Why is she nowhere in sight? I begin to panic and pull out my phone to call her, but there's no answer. Just then, I see a new photo posted on Instagram. Her male colleague, Joe Carter, is the one who posted it. The caption reads, "I'd like to thank a certain someone for filling the role of a mother in my daughter's life." In the photo, Selena is wearing matching outfits with Joe's daughter, Katy Carter. She holds Katy in her arms while smiling brightly the whole time. They look like a happy family of three. That is, if Selena weren't my wife at all.

I was in the living room, handling some work, and casually asked the smart assistant to play some music. "Alexa, play some jazz." "Sure. By the way, just a reminder—four days from now, at ten in the morning, you're scheduled to accompany Sienna to her prenatal checkup." My hand froze midair. My name is Victoria. And I'm not pregnant. Jonathan was walking out of the bathroom, towel-drying his hair. He saw the look on my face and pulled me into his arms. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" I casually darkened my phone screen and smiled. "Nothing. Just a little tired." Jonathan kissed my forehead, his eyes tender and full of love. "Go get some sleep. Don't miss your birthday party tomorrow—you're the star of the night. I can't wait to spend it with you." I leaned into his chest, my lips curling into a cold little smile. My dear husband, you'd better not have done anything to betray me. Otherwise, you're about to find out exactly what it costs to betray the daughter of a mafia family.

Sebastian was staring at his phone screen again, spooning oatmeal baby food from the microwave into our six-month-old son's mouth. A second later, the baby screamed, scalded, and the food and spoon clattered to the floor. Sebastian was still swiping through his phone. Without looking up, he said, "Sorry. I wasn't paying attention." Ever since Vivian, the high school homecoming queen, had re-added him, that line had become his catchphrase. I scrambled to get ice water to cool the baby's mouth, fighting back tears of panic. The baby screamed until he was nearly choking before Sebastian finally looked up at me. Then he looked back down and furiously refreshed his screen. "Don't just stand there. Do something, Joyce. You know how hard Coachella tickets are to get. I have to watch the countdown. Vivian's been prepping for this for half a year." His subtext was clear. Stop bothering him with his "real" priorities. I looked at the clear blisters burned into my baby's mouth, and a chill crept up from the soles of my feet. Sebastian thought his family would always be there, waiting in place. But this time, we weren't waiting anymore.

Our daughter was diagnosed with a genetic illness. To save her, my husband founded a charity in her name. To raise the funds, he pushed himself to the brink—working three hundred days straight, surviving on three hours of sleep a night. His relentless drive moved countless people. The media hailed him as "Father of the Year." Everyone congratulated me on having such a devoted partner. Then came the day he rallied the entire nation, securing pledges for millions in donations to fund our daughter's cure. At the gala, with over ten million dollars moments from being transferred, I suddenly hit the pause button. "And now, we'll take a brief intermission for a signing," I announced. The room erupted. They shouted at me, called me selfish, a monster. My husband stared at me, utterly stunned. "Have you lost your mind? Children around the world are waiting on this money to survive! What in God's name are you talking about?" I lifted my gaze to meet his. "A divorce agreement."

After I quit my job to become a full-time househusband, my wife, Brooke Lowell, left me with nothing but a bank card capped at 1,000 dollars a month. She said children had to be raised with hardship to grow up strong, and was always worried I might secretly give our daughter special treatment. But 1,000 dollars was nowhere near enough to cover a household's monthly expenses. Every time the kindergarten asked for nutrition fees, I could only swallow my pride and beg for leniency. "She's just a child. Why does she need that much money? You've got some nerve, living so comfortably on 1,000 a month." I had thought Brooke's harshness was meant to temper our daughter's character. That illusion lasted until I asked Brooke for 300 dollars to buy clothes for our daughter's Children's Day performance. What I received instead was humiliation and ridicule from everyone. Brooke accused me of acting like a spoiled rich kid, wasting money on unnecessary clothes. My mother-in-law complained that I dressed too poorly, like a beggar bringing shame to the family. Even my daughter blamed me for embarrassing her, saying I had ruined her Children's Day and damaged her props. I bowed my head, apologized, and paid compensation. Only then did I discover that my bank card had been frozen. The very next moment, Brooke's crush posted on social media about his son receiving a luxury mansion. 'Already a house-owner at three! Who'd believe she's not his birth mother?' Only then did I understand. People who truly loved someone would never be stingy when spending on them.

In the sixth year of my relationship with Niklas Berg, he spent three hundred days a year in Inari, in northern Finland, doing fieldwork on Sámi culture and traditional crafts. I stayed behind in London, looking after his mother, Helena Berg, who had been bedridden since her stroke. The day I miscarried from sheer exhaustion, I was shaking all over with pain. I called him. Before I could say a word, he cut me off. "Signal's bad up here. The project's at a critical stage. Stop bothering me with every little thing at home." Then he hung up. I had always believed he was simply too consumed by his research to understand the needs of an ordinary relationship. That belief lasted until late one night, when I came across a promotional video for a Nordic traditional crafts exhibition on social media. In the video, Niklas, always so reserved and composed, was leaning down, fastening an heirloom silver brooch at the collar of a radiant young Sámi woman. The silver caught the light against her red-and-blue shawl, and his hands moved with such solemnity it looked like a ritual only the two of them understood. Someone off-camera teased him, asking if he planned to stay in the north forever. He looked at the girl, his voice low and tender. "Aila says this brooch is only given to the person she wants to share her life with. I'd gladly stay here for her." I closed the video. I didn't cry, and I didn't confront him. I simply signed the Helsinki transfer confirmation I should have signed long ago, then left my flat key and engagement ring behind in our home. His beliefs had never left room for me. So I would go and find a world of my own.

I’m the Blackthorn family’s top surgeon and their “cleaner.” I’ve handled countless messes for Evan Blackthorn. I was also his secret lover for five years. He was inside me more times than I can count, holding me tight as I came apart, kissing me with an obsession for my body he never bothered to hide. It all ended after sex one night, when he said with a casual laugh, “I should get a wife, Rachel.” “And maybe you should find a good man and get married, too.” I wasn’t angry. I just quietly said, “Okay.” In my last life, I insisted on staying by his side. It got me both my hands broken, my career as a surgeon shattered. In the end, during a raid by a rival family, he left me behind as bait, holding his brother’s widow, Sofia, tenderly in his arms. So this time, I learned my lesson. I stayed away from him. Found a new man, just like he wanted. But this time, the always cool and calculated Mafia Don lost his mind.

In the most dangerous seventh month of my twin pregnancy, Adrian invited friends over and threw a welcome-home dinner for Vivian, who had just returned to the country. During a round of truth or dare, someone asked him, "If Serena and Vivian both fell into the water and there was only one life jacket, who would you give it to?" I was in the nursery folding baby clothes when I heard his answer come without a moment's hesitation. "Vivi. Serena's tough. She can swim back on her own." My mother chimed in, "Rena grew up in the countryside. She's tough as nails. But Vivi is delicate. She can't handle that kind of scare." Then my brother, the one I had poured everything into putting through school, laughed too. "My sister does whatever Adrian tells her. Forget a life jacket. You could ask her to donate both kidneys to Vivian and she wouldn't dare say a word." The room went quiet around me, with nothing but the steady thud of kicks against my palm. They didn't know that the doctor had issued a critical-condition notice for severe preeclampsia just the day before: At any moment, my placenta could separate, I could hemorrhage into my brain, or all three of us could die. I needed to be admitted immediately to terminate the pregnancy. That morning, I had brought the diagnosis to Adrian and begged him to take me to the hospital. He had barely glanced at it before frowning and saying, "Vivi's coming home today. Don't ruin the mood with some unlikely complication." Ten years of devotion, and all I got in return was "tough as nails." I signed the divorce papers, uploaded the recording to the cloud, and called the private hospital. "Send an ambulance. I need an emergency C-section. Now." Since they all thought my life was worthless, I would take my two children and walk out of their precious world forever.

After Vanessa moved into the estate, Mommy stopped fighting with Daddy. Her wolf was getting weaker. I think Mommy was going to the moon. Grandma had left me that way too. Daddy saw us in the hall, his face dark. His voice came out flat. “Fiona, you don't want Serena growing up in a broken home, do you?” Mommy didn't cry and shout at him the way she used to. She just held me, her voice soft. “Wire me a hundred million and I'll stay out of your way.” Daddy froze for a second. Then he transferred the money. After that, Daddy slept in Vanessa's room most nights, and Mommy kept asking him for more. She got so thin, and she wouldn't eat. She took my hand and brought me to a dozen different offices and made me sign papers. She said she was leaving everything to me. I buried my face in her chest. “Mommy, if you're tired, go find Grandma. I'll be good.”

Mom always said my sister was the little princess of our family, while I was a tough little monkey who could take anything. So whenever my sister caused trouble, I was the one who got punished. When she refused to eat vegetables, Mom made me skip dinner for three days. When she played on her tablet instead of doing homework, Mom smashed my favorite Star Ranger figure. When she climbed onto the windowsill to retrieve a toy, Mom made me stand outside in the sun all day. Mrs. Parker from downstairs always praised her. "You're such a wonderful mother. Most parents would have scolded their daughter." Mom would tap my forehead and answer as though it were obvious. "Boys are tougher. A little punishment won't hurt him, but my Lily should never have to suffer." One Saturday, my sister and I were home alone. She turned on the stove because she wanted to toast marshmallows. Mom came home just as the burner clicked on. Without asking a single question, she shoved me into the kitchen, opened a burner valve without lighting it, and told my sister, "Lily, the next time you touch the stove, I'll punish your brother again. Let this teach you a lesson." I pounded on the door and begged Mom to let me out. The door never opened. The rotten-egg smell grew stronger and stronger. And my eyelids grew heavier and heavier...

As an exploration geologist, I'm caught in a landslide during a mission, and one of my arms is crushed. Before we set out, our exploration team has accurately predicted the weather. There's no chance of heavy rain that day. It isn't until I overhear my wife, Diana Nelson, talking to a doctor friend that I learn the truth. "Diana, you knew Adam was going out on a mission that day, yet you spent a fortune on creating cloud seeding just to get him injured and eventually cost him an arm. You really went too far for Flynn." Diana frowns. "Who told him to care so much about that exploration project? The only way the project can go to Flynn is if Adam gets disabled. "Otherwise, Flynn will be sent to Nambara. You think I can bear to let him suffer in a place like that?" What she doesn't know is that the Nambaran assignment will go to either Flynn Cooper or me. Before leaving, I put my medical report, which states that I've lost my reproductive ability, into a box. The day Flynn makes a name for himself, the box will be delivered to Diana as a gift.

Being locked away by my parents as a child left me with severe claustrophobia. Every time it flared up, I not only lost my voice but also lost my ability to use the mind-link with anyone in the pack. In my parents' eyes, a strong werewolf should have gotten over something that happened so long ago. Each time I lost my voice, only Alpha Caius Thorne stayed by my side. He kept notepads and pens throughout the estate and kept our conversation pinned to the top of his messages. He even learned sign language just for me. When another episode struck, I signed to him with trembling hands. "Does this ever make you tired of me?" My mate's scent enveloped me, calming my restless wolf. "Never. If anything, I'm glad we have a language that's just ours." Then Sage Mercer returned. She was a human healer and one of my closest friends. She tricked me into entering an underground stone chamber and locked me inside. The sealed space triggered another episode. I couldn't call for Caius, even though he was standing right outside the door. All I could do was sign frantically. But he acted like he didn't understand and stood there as Sage sealed the heavy stone door. Panic took over. I shifted into my wolf form and threw myself against the door with everything I had. Again and again, I slammed into it until my body was drenched in blood, yet not a single cry for help escaped my throat. Then I heard Sage speaking to Caius on the other side of the door. "Elara has to face her trauma head-on. Protecting her every time this happens won't help her get better. "A Luna represents her pack. With a condition like hers, she'll only hold you back. "Once she can call out for help on her own, we'll let her out." Caius said nothing. I understood his silence for what it was: agreement. So that was how Caius really saw me. A burden. But they had forgotten this underground chamber was designed to hold untamable beasts. Once the heavy door was sealed, almost no fresh air could get inside. No matter

During the university’s hundred-year anniversary celebration, my daughter was cast as the lead in a play. A certain female classmate who had always been jealous of her conspired with others to swap out the safety cables. Halfway through the performance, the cable snapped, and my daughter fell from a great height. She bled to death on the spot. I rushed onto the stage in a frenzy, but my daughter’s advisor and others held me down with all their might. My wife was heartbroken. In front of the media cameras, she wiped away her tears. “My husband had been so desperate for our daughter to become famous that he secretly changed the safety wire to a thinner one...” Amid a storm of online abuse, I jumped to my death, filled with bitterness. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day of the anniversary celebration. Without a word, I immediately withdrew my daughter from school and locked her at home. That evening, I sat in the audience at the school anniversary gala. When it was time for the final play, the female lead wore my daughter’s costume and took the stage. My heart sank, and I looked around. The group that had bullied my daughter was sitting in the row in front of me. So, who exactly was the person hanging in midair right then, wearing my daughter’s costume?

When my sister, Vesper Rowe, begged us for help, my mate, Alpha Sterling Blackwood, and I traveled for three days and nights to reach the neighboring Cloudwolf Pack. Vesper's in-laws made her life as hard as they could. I out-argued every wolf in the room, and Sterling backed me up with brute strength. Once her mate bond was finally severed, a smile finally appeared on Vesper's haggard face. "Moon Goddess bless you both. Don't ever split up, okay? Otherwise, I won't know whose house to go to anymore." Sterling ruffled her hair, then looked at me with open affection. "Don't worry about us. The Moon Goddess chose Livia and me as the most compatible mates in the entire werewolf world. Everyone else could split up, but we'd still be together. "What matters now is figuring out what kind of life you want for yourself." After we brought Vesper home with us, I took even better care of her than before and made sure she got out and met new people. Whenever Sterling saw me preparing a plate of fruit for Vesper, he'd pull me into his arms, acting jealous. "Livia, your sister is a grown woman. I'm your mate, and I'm the one who needs more of your attention right now." I laughed and popped a slice of apple into his mouth, my heart brimming with happiness. When I returned from a month-long training retreat, they were both there to pick me up. Sterling opened his arms to hug me as usual, but I spotted a lipstick stain on his collar. When I confronted him about it, Sterling, who'd always answered every question I asked, remained silent. My heart sank, and I decided I'd break the bond the very next day. But when I reached for Vesper to take her with me, my hand closed on empty air. She gave me one reluctant look, then turned and walked to Sterling.

I guided 3,600 souls across the River Styx. I endured the fires of Hell 3,600 times on behalf of the rich and powerful. I turned down 3,600 offers from the King of Hell to be reborn into a life of wealth and privilege. Finally, after I earned enough merit, the King of Hell allowed me to return to the day of my father’s wedding. I shoved my way through the guests and screamed until my voice gave out. “Dad! Don’t marry her!”